


Outside

by earthtoalley



Series: 30 Days of Writing [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthtoalley/pseuds/earthtoalley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No, he thought to himself, that’s wrong. Because, realistically, what couldn’t a man who didn’t feel do? He may have felt small and insignificant then, but for the second time in his life Sam Winchester felt powerful."</p><p>Drabble for the 30 Days of Writing meme. Prompt 4: Outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outside

The sun shone down on the back of a man too tall for his own good. His hair, also probably too long for his own good, picked up a little as a swift breeze tumbled past him before dying back down to the stillness of the summer heat. He could feel the stiff denim wrapped around his legs groan and heave each time he moved, reminding him of his need to buy more jeans when he had the chance.

Birds chirped nearby, their chorus a welcome change from the torments the man had become accustomed to. At least, he supposed it was a welcome change. Honestly, he couldn’t really _feel_ anything.

He had expected things to be different – not that he had ever really expected to stroll out of hell. Out of the Cage. And it wasn’t like he and Dean had ever really talked about how Dean had felt in the first few minutes after his release from hell – because Dean had spent so long keeping everything hidden away and locked up, and by the time he had been ready to talk, they had only worried about what he had been through – but Sam had pictured it enough times.

He had expected to feel relief. To feel some kind of gratitude towards whatever higher power plucked him from the Cage. He had _expected_ to feel so overwhelmed that he wasn’t sure where to go or what to say, but… There was nothing.

Not the vague kind of nothing you feel when you’re not quite sure just _how_ you feel because your emotions flicker in and out too quickly for you to properly register them, but the wide, cloying, overwhelming expanses of pure nothingness. The sheer solitude of feeling totally and completely empty, devoid of anything and everything that made Sam Winchester _who_ he was.

The infinite, endless chasm of a celestial vacant stare bore down on his very existence and made him feel obsolete and insignificant. Because what good could a man who didn’t feel do?

 _No_ , he thought to himself, _that’s wrong_. Because, realistically, what _couldn’t_ a man who didn’t feel do? He may have felt small and insignificant then, but for the second time in his life Sam Winchester felt powerful.

Powerful and free.


End file.
